The Fire of the Stars
by Emma-G
Summary: In the beginning years of the Third Age, a child was born to Cirdan, Lord of Mithlond, the Grey Havens. She had hair as red as copper, and her name was Norelda, the fire of the stars. She was to touch many people, mortal and immortal, all over Middle Ea
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: All Tolkiens. Not mine. If you sue, you will get $3.74 and my teddy bear. Please don't sue, I like my Teddy. A/N: This is my first fanfic. Please be nice. Also tell me if it is a Mary-Sue, because I tried to make it not. Reviews, apparently, are good, so some of them, too. Um. Please?  
  
In the beginning years of the Third Age, there came a great rejoicing among the elves, for, almost as if they had been waiting for the shadow to be lifted, many children were being born in all the Elven-homes. In Mirkwood, King Thranduil was blessed with more sons than he knew what to do with, in Imladris, called Rivindell, the Lord Elrond had twin sons and a beautiful daughter, and in Mithlond, the Grey Havens, Celebwen, the Silver-Maiden, daughter of Galadriel and sister to Celebrian, gave a daughter to the Shipwright Cirdan, before sailing West soon after the birth. The child was named by her mother before she departed. Even so early she had hair as red as copper, and eyes of so pale a blue they seemed white. So her name was Norelda, Fire of the Stars. 


	2. Chapter 2

As a child, Norelda loved the Sea. Unlike so many other elves, she grew up with it at all times. She was lulled to sleep at night by the sound of its waves, and in the summer, she swam almost every day. As she grew, her unusual hair colour set her apart from the other elves in the Havens, coupled with the fact that since her mother had left, her father, though noble, handsome and wise, did not have the slightest clue about how to raise a daughter.  
  
For most of her young life Norelda was free to roam about as she pleased, as long as she stayed within sight of the dock at all times. By the time she was twelve years old, her lovely red hair was a massive tangle almost reaching her by the sun, and her skin was a deep brown. With her pale eyes, the combination was quite striking, but little Norelda was becoming quite wild and rude. Her father, after a shocking display at the dinner table one night, had had enough.  
  
"Young lady, I have had enough" he scolded the sullen-eyed child standing before him in his study.  
  
Norelda stared up at her father with her pale eyes. "But Father, I didn't do anything."  
  
"Yes, you did. You have been rude and nasty, and you said some horrible things to the cook. I won't have it anymore." Cirdan sighed, and sat in his comfortable study chair. His study window, like most in the Havens, faced the Sea.  
  
"What will you do now? Are you going to send me away?" she asked in sudden fright.  
  
"I don't know, Brighteye. Ever since your mother sailed away, I haven't known what to do." Then the Shipwright sat up straight as an idea struck him. "Of course! Celebrian!"  
  
"Mothers sister? Are you going to send me away?" Norelda was almost crying now. She loved her home dearly.  
  
"Oh, little one. It won't be far. I can't take proper care of you here, and Celebrian has three children, one a daughter about your age." Her father paused as he took in her stricken face. "Come now, Norelda, don't cry. You will have other children to play with, and you know Celebrian was your mothers twin. They were so alike it was difficult to tell them apart. Oh, the pranks they used to play!" Cirdan laughed fondly at the memory. Norelda watched him in fascination, her tears drying. "You will have lots of fun in Imladris, Brighteye. Don't forget, most of the elves in Rivindell have never seen the Sea, so they'll want you to tell them all about it. You won't have time to sit down, let alone be homesick." Cirdan comforted.  
  
Dry-eyed now, Norelda nodded. "Well just so long as I can come and visit sometimes."  
  
"Of course. Now, it will take a little while for the messengers to get to Imladris and back, so you shouldn't be going for almost a moon, but perhaps you should start to pack some of your winter things now. Don't forget, Celebrian and Elrond's daughter will want to play with you so take some of your games."  
  
"Yes, father. What is my cousin's name?"  
  
Her father had to think a moment. "Arwen. Yes, that was it. Royal- maiden. Apparently she is very beautiful."  
  
"Thankyou, father. Goodnight." And Norelda left, and went to bed.  
  
The next few weeks were a flurry of packing and preparation. Norelda almost got caught up in it, but then she would glimpse the Sea, or hear the cry of a gull, and would be reminded of what she was leaving behind.  
  
On the last night, after the last maid had left the room, she crawled from her bed, reached underneath it, and pulled out a chest. In the chest was her secret treasure - weapons. There was a shortbow with a quiver of arrows salvaged from the target area, a small, sturdy sword, old but still beautiful, and several long knives with a whetstone. Also in the box was an empty water flask, a large leather bag, and a knife-belt of soft leather, that could hold six knives across the front of the chest and behind the shoulders. Norelda had never used that, though she longed to, for it was designed for someone much larger than she, and hung loosely off her. Instead she took a double bladed knife, the sharpest she had, and stopping only briefly at her dresser to collect a small silver mirror, she headed for the window and climbed out.  
  
Her room was cut out of solid rock, several stories up a cliff-face, but she tucked the mirror into the loose bodice of her sleeping garment, held the knife between her bared teeth, and looking like a little pirate, climbed nimbly down the cliff, landing on soft sand and loose shale. She barely felt the sharp rocks underfoot as she moved like a silent shadow across the Havens, down to the beach.  
  
The stars blazed brightly overhead, and the moon was a barely visible sliver in the sky. We leave tomorrow, thought Norelda as she paused at the top of the steep path that would take her down to the beach. She had thought, foolishly, that she would never leave this place, that she would always race barefoot along the sands, and eat fish and crabs for dinner. She didn't want to go to Imladris, but she knew that her father would not be swayed.  
  
She wanted to keep the Sea always with her. 


	3. Chapter 3

Norelda picked her way down the path without even thinking about it. She knew all the tracks around here like the back of her hand, even in the dark. This was her home, and her father was sending her away.  
  
She reached the beach, felt the cool sand between her bare toes. Was there sand in Imladris? She did not think so. There could surely be no place in the world as lovely as this.  
  
As she reached the water's edge, she dropped the knife to the sand, and untied her belt. The mirror fell beside the knife unnoticed, followed by her garment. She walked forward naked into the water. It was perfectly, almost unnaturally calm, almost welcoming.  
  
She swam, and for a time was aware of little but the motion of the water around, it's sound in her ears, and the stars blazing brightly overhead. She drifted, dreaming, eventually back to the shore and walked out dripping wet. Shivering slightly at the cold air, she knelt on the sand by her possessions.  
  
Norelda lifted the silver mirror and tilted it so she could see her reflection in the starlight. Sharp planed face, tilted eyes, upswept eyebrows. Thin lips, and a stubborn chin, slender neck. Red hair. So unusual, that colour hair, like copper. The maid had brushed all the tangles out before bed, but her impromptu swim had messed it all up again and it hung in a straggly mess around her face and ears. Pointed ears. Elf ears.  
  
This face, this strange, sharp face could have belonged to a stranger. Norelda so rarely looked into a mirror, caring little for her appearance. The face that peered out of the mirror was strange and wild. Elves were beautiful and graceful, but not Norelda. She was.dirty. Wild. Fey. Something else, not really an elf at all.  
  
She laughed at her own vanity. Elf-brat, she thought. Thinking that you're something special.  
  
She lifted her eyes and stared out at the horizon. West. The Uttermost West, the Undying lands, the Blessed Realm. Where her mother was, and so many others. She gazed out at the place where the sky met the sea, almost as if she could see the landmass on the other side, and something stirred within her. Rebellion. I like it here, she thought fiercely. I love the cliffs, and the way the sun sets into the Sea, and the way the sand is just a little bit grainy between your toes. I don't want to go somewhere were everything is perfect. Where the sun would rise from the sea. It would seem so.wrong.  
  
But she wasn't going over the sea, where everyone would be beautiful, and would expect her to wear dresses and behave like a lady. She was going to Imladris, to Rivindell, where everyone would be beautiful and expect her to wear dresses and act like a lady. And she wouldn't be able to see the Sea. No more starlit swims, no more dancing barefoot on the beach by a raging fire. Dresses and jewels, and heavy hairstyles and banquets of rich, heavy meats that would likely make her ill. And lessons too. So far Norelda had escaped having to learn to read or write, but she was sure that there would be none of that in Imladris.  
  
She flopped onto her back and sighed. The Sea whispered and caressed her feet as she lay and stared up at the stars. The sound of the Sea was soothing, and the stars were so beautiful, and the sand was soft and cushy, and she could feel herself drifting...  
  
There was something digging into her back. Something sharp digging into her back. She flipped over so she was lying on her stomach, and picked up the shell that was half-buried in the sand. It was a clam shell. A whole one, not broken or cracked like so many, with a delicate sheen of mother-of- pearl on the inside.  
  
Norelda turned the shell over and over in her hands, feeling its edges and curves, learning its shape. It was small, somewhat less than her palm, and fit neatly against her hand. She wrapped her fingers around it. This she would keep, as a rememberance of her home, of the Sea.  
  
Holding the shell tightly, she looked out at the horizon once more, and a hand crept up to touch her tangled, salt-dry hair. Defiance rose in her, and she reached out, fumbling slightly, dropping the shell to the sand, to grip the knife. She brought the knife up to her face and stared at the polished blade as if transfixed. She could see her reflection in the blade, slighty distorted, but her red hair stood out clearly.  
  
Ugly girl, she thought. Witch.  
  
With a sudden movement she grabbed a lock of hair from the side of her head and hacked it off. Again, and again. Handfuls of hair fell to the sand, and when all of her long, lovely hair was cut to about half a finger length, roughly and unevenly, she flung the knife away, scrabbled for her shell which she clutched to her chest and collapsed into the sand. 


	4. Chapter 4

The sun rose slowly from the rolling green hills in the east, and the Havens were in an uproar. Norelda had stumbled back to bed in the wee small hours of the morning, after carefully packing up her shell and all of the contents of her box into the spacious leather bag and leaving it by her bedside.  
  
She slipped out of her trance as she heard the door to her room open. A high-pitched shriek snapped her completely to wakefulness, and she bolted upright, unhindered by the former weight of her abundant curls, to see her maid, frozen in place by her bed, and her father in the doorway looking like he was about to explode.  
  
Oh dear.  
  
However, instead of exploding as she had expected, her father simply told her very quietly to rise and dress, and then left. As she padded silently along the corridor to the dining room, she received some looks ranging from bewildered and slightly bemused, to amused and trying to hide a smirk, to utterly and completely shocked.  
  
Cirdan was not in the dining room, and she ate in a nervous silence. A quick dash back to her room to collect her bag, and then out to the courtyard where the horses were waiting. Her father turned as she stumbled out the door. Not overly graceful, but there you go. She paused, blinking in the bright light. Her father held the reins of a lovely red mare.  
  
Cirdan looked down at his wayward daughter, not unkindly, for although she was very frustrating, he loved the child dearly. She looked back at him, slightly nervous and obviously wondering if he was going to punish her for cutting off all her hair. He had decided that he wasn't going to make a big fuss over it, because it likely wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference to her attitude, and he did not want their parting to be strained and bitter.  
  
He scooped up the child into his arms and kissed her forehead. She was tiny, weighing almost nothing as he hugged her tightly before lifting her up onto the back of the horse. He tousled her short crop of hair and told her to write as soon as she arrived, and then turned away to instruct her escort.  
  
Thus Norelda left her childhood home, her dearly loved Sea and her father, who was still slightly bemused at having a child, but loved her nonetheless. She turned east, to Imladris and the family and home of Elrond of the line of Luthien and Beren.  
  
Arwen of Imladris, yet to be called Undomiel, was very excited to have her cousin come to visit. A shy girl, Arwen had no female elves of her own age to play with, so she could not wait for Norelda to arrive. The room next to Arwens had been cleaned out, an extra desk had been added to the lesson- room, and Arwen was wearing her favourite dark-blue dress to look nice for her new playmate.  
  
She knew very little about Norelda, only that she had grown up in Mithlond beside the Sea, that she had red hair and was the same age as Arwen. The combination of red hair and the Sea seemed very exotic and strange to Arwen, who imagined her as being tall and beautiful, with skin as white as snow and a river of liquid fire down her back.  
  
Imagine her suprise when, standing shyly half behind her mother and peeping out, she saw that the contingent from Mithlond escorted a short, skinny, grumpy looking girl with a mop of red hair that stood out in every direction, a dark, patchy tan and a knife harness that was too big for her slung around her bony shoulders over a filthy riding tunic.  
  
Her mother, Celebrian, stepped forward to courteously greet their guests, but Arwen could tell from her tone of voice that the Lady of Imladris was slightly put off but her new fosterling's appearance. The child returned the greeting in a clear, piping voice, looking around, clearly fascinated by her surroundings. Arwen stepped forward to greet the girl. Despite her unusual looks, the girl was in a strange place where she knew no-one, and had no friends.  
  
"Greetings, cousin Norelda. I am Arwen. I am so glad you have come, for I have been lonely without anyone to play with. I am sure we will have lots of fun together." finished Arwen with a smile.  
  
Norelda smiled hesitantly back. Arwen was beautiful. Already a handspan taller than her cousin, Arwen had perfect translucent skin, deep midnight blue eyes, delicately refined features, and thick, glossy, waist-length black hair. Norelda might have been jealous, but Arwen was holding out her hands in a shy but genuinely welcoming gesture, and she responded to the other with a warm smile that surprised even herself.  
  
"Thankyou for your welcome, cousin Arwen. I will try my best to be happy here, and I do look forward to playing with you. What games do you know?"  
  
"Not many for two," admitted Arwen with a graceful shrug, "I've been alone, mostly, except for Elledan and Elrohir, and their games mostly are just hitting each other with sticks. They think they're big warriors, but-" here she broke off, and pointed up to a balcony set into the side of the steep valley wall. Two boys, so alike that it was impossible to tell them apart, were having a mock sword fight. The thin, long sticks they wielded did very little damage to either one, and blows that would have been deadly five times over in a real swordfight were simply annoying. All in all, they looked rather silly.  
  
Norelda looked at Arwen, and grinned. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad here after all.  
  
A/N Will probably take a while to update, as have limited internet access. Thankyou Queenie for the lovely reviews, keepthemcomingIfeelbetteralready 


	5. Chapter5

Disclaimer: The man who owns this world is dead, and would likely be turning in his grave at my blatant massacre of his genius. I own Norelda, and nothing else. Posting: Why would you want to? But sure, if you, like. Just tell me. Summary: Riiiiight.... Norelda and Arwen, fifty-odd years on. A/N: Not sure where this is going... if you have any ideas, please tell me. Reviews are good... warm and fuzzy. Heh. Keep 'em coming. ________________  
  
Arwen glanced up disapprovingly as her cousin dropped out of the tree that Arwen was sitting under, landing silently, cat-like on all fours. The subject of her perusal looked up her and grinned.  
  
Norelda straightened up to her full, unimposing height of almost a head shorter than Arwen. Her hair had grown back, longer than ever, in the fifty years since she had cut it off in a fit of childish rebellion. It now reached almost to her knees, tied back in a tight plait that swung as she moved. She glared down at the reddish rope of hair; it made scampering about in the trees dreadfully inconvenient, but Lord Elrond had told her that it was unseemly for a Lady to have short hair.  
  
She always obeyed Lord Elrond, everyone in Imladris did. He was so bright and fascinating, with such an aura of command, it was impossible to gainsay him. Thank goodness he didn't mind her clothing. When he had seen her that first afternoon, he had only smiled and said that one must dress according to the situation. She had proceeded to do so, wearing whatever seemed appropriate at the time, which today, for tree-climbing, meant bare feet, old comfortable breeches, torn off raggedly at just below the knees, and an equally ragged and old tunic with no sleeves.  
  
She looked at her perfectly composed playmate, sitting cool and elegant in the shade, and stepped backward into the brilliant sun with a delighted sigh.  
  
"You'll get sunburnt," said Arwen, carefully selecting a different thread.  
  
"No, I won't. You always tell me I'll get sunburnt, but I don't. I go brown." said Norelda cheerfully, flopping down to sit on the floor of the courtyard.  
  
"Or freckle," jibed Arwen gently. "You do have a great deal of freckles." In truth, Norelda had only the barest spattering of freckles across her nose, but Elrond's children loved to tease her about it.  
  
"No, they're all from when I was a child. I'm too dark to freckle now, or burn." And she stretched out her legs in front of her and wriggled her brown little toes at Arwen. "Whereas you, my milky-white cousin, turn a lovely shade of pink if you step out of the shade."  
  
"I do not!" Arwen looked offended.  
  
"Then come out into the sun! It's an absolutely beautiful day, and you're wasting sitting in the shade." Arwen hesitated. "Oh, come on. A bit of sun will do you good! Put some colour in your cheeks. You look a bit sickly. Sitting on the ground won't hurt you, either." Arwen rolled her eyes at this reference to the fastidiousness that had astonished Norelda when she first arrived, and floated smoothly over to where her cousin was sitting in the bright sunlight. She folded her legs under her and slid to the ground, gracefully, as she did everything.  
  
Norelda grinned and lay down on her belly. Her shell, on a thin gold chain about her neck, swung gently back and forth. She waved her feet in the air.  
  
"So, tomorrow we set off on our great journey. First Lorien, then Greenwood." said Norelda after a time.  
  
"Yes," said Arwen, "I can't wait! I've never been outside Imladris. Is the rest of the world as lovely as this? I don't think there could be any place quite so beautiful, anywhere."  
  
Norelda laughed, remembering thinking the same thing about Mithlond. "Even across the sea? I don't remember much of the journey here. It was dusty, then muddy, then wet. I was just glad to get here so I could get off that stinking horse." She smiled at the memory.  
  
Arwen sighed, squinting up at the sky. "I've heard that Lothlorien is the most beautiful place this side of the Sea."  
  
"Yes, and that the trees shower gold upon travellers, and they have a waterfall that sings. And the Lady of the Wood, our Grandmother, is the most beautiful woman in the world."  
  
"Yes, Elrohir was saying that she lived in the Time Before." The Time Before, when there was no Sun or Moon, only Stars and the Two Trees, was a time of far off legend to them. The idea of meeting someone who had lived in that time, who had known and lived among the heroes of their stories, who was a part of their stories, was mind-boggling.  
  
"And that she has seen the light of the Two Trees of Valinor, and that that light shines in her face!"  
  
"And she knew Feanor, and he was her father's brother." The familiar tales, well worn and well-known with much telling, flew from their lips, and they smiled and laughed. After a while, a silence fell, comfortably. They sat and lay, dark and bright, beautiful and lively, in the sun for a time.  
  
"Arwen?"  
  
"Yes, Norelda?"  
  
"You do know why our fathers are sending us on this trip, don't you?"  
  
"Yes. They want to broaden our horizons, give us a chance to see the world."  
  
"I think they want us to meet King Thranduil's sons."  
  
"You're such a cynic. Why can't our fathers do something nice for us, without having an ulterior motive?"  
  
"I'm not a cynic, and I'm not saying that it's a bad thing, necessarily. I just think they want us to meet some nice Elf-Lords. If we fall in love and spend an eternity of bliss with them, that will simply be wonderful."  
  
Arwen looked at her cousin with some amusement. "I think father would like you to wed Elledan or Elrohir."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous. They are my cousins, and our mothers were twins. They are as close as brothers to me. Besides, how would I choose which to wed, as they are so alike it is impossible to tell them apart?"  
  
"I suppose."  
  
They sat in silence for a time, soaking up they summer sun. They had spent countless hours like this in the last fifty years, doing very little but sitting quietly and enjoying each others company. They would have very little time for such things during the upcoming months, as they would be travelling and meeting so many new people, and would have little time for relaxation.  
  
After a time Arwen started to squirm. Unused to the hot sun, she was very fearful for her lovely skin, and wanted to move back into the shade of the tree. Norelda noted the squirming and stifled a grin. She knew that her cousin was too polite to say anything, and would sit until Norelda gave her an opening or an excuse to move. She lay quietly, enjoying her cousin's discomfort for a moment longer, then rolled onto her back with a sigh.  
  
"Lets go in now, Arwen. I'm hungry."  
  
Arwen leapt to her feet with what seemed to Norelda to be undue haste. Norelda lay a moment longer, stretching her tiny body until it arched off the ground. Arwen made a strangled noise, and she grinned. Opened her eyes to find her cousin looking down at her with a reproving smile on her face. She smiled back and jumped to her lithely to her feet.  
  
"I wonder what your mother will say about your sunburn" she teased gently as they entered the house.  
  
"Sunburn? I am not sunburned, am I?" Arwen was horrified.  
  
"Of course not, you goose. You just have a little flush in your cheeks is all. It looks very pretty, actually, like you're blushing a little."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
Norelda looked sideways at her. "Do you honestly know how beautiful you are, Arwen?"  
  
"You keep telling me so. I can't really see it when I look in the mirror."  
  
"How can you not? You're gorgeous, just perfect."  
  
Arwen looked at her playmate. "Really?"  
  
"Yes, of course. You're utterly beautiful."  
  
Arwen smiled then, a shy, gentle smile. "I'm certainly not as lovely as you, though."  
  
Norelda turned to stare at her in astonishment. "What on earth are you talking about? I'm not beautiful."  
  
Arwen looked at her curiously. "Of course you are."  
  
"I'm not. I'm so plain."  
  
"No! Perhaps not in your face, but you are lovely. The way you move, whether you're dancing or scampering about in the trees, the way your voice sounds when you're talking about the Sea... ours is a race that is leaving these shores, fading into the twilight, but you, you are so full of energy and life that I am often surprised you don't fly apart."  
  
It was Norelda's turn to smile shyly. She had never really seen herself as beautiful. Growing up in the company of Arwen would make anyone feel less than beautiful, and she had given up any hope of equalling her cousin's beauty. Now Arwen was telling her that she was lovely and full of life. Her smile faded somewhat as she recalled how Celebrian had always disapproved of her restlessness and constant movement. She said it was unladylike.  
  
As if reading her thought, Arwen said, "Don't mind Mother. She was raised in Lothlorien, where it's very quiet. She doesn't like things to move too quickly. It makes her head spin."  
  
They both laughed, knowing how dignified the lady Celebrian was. She moved so slowly, gracefully, rarely troubling herself. The worst pranks that any of the children could pull would not so much as disturb a hair on her lovely blonde head, but her lectures afterwards would strip the skin off their backs and leave them as blubbering messes. It was not really wise to upset the lady Celebrian.  
  
*************  
  
Elrond stood silently, watching the maidens come in from the garden, listening to their cheerful chatter, their exchange of compliments. They were children, still., so young, still struggling to find themselves.  
  
They made an amusing picture, the pair of them. His own daughter so tall and elegant, all grace and refinement, glossy hair and good manners. Cirdan's child so tiny and bright, all movement and fire, scruffy appearance and sharp mind. So different. Different, but the same.  
  
They were the last. He knew this for certain. These two maidens, still such children, were the last elves that would ever be born on this side of the sea. So young, they were the last life of a race that was almost finished here. They were special, though exactly what part they would play he was not sure. They signified hope, certainly. Hope for all Middle- Earth.  
  
They were so young.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N Wasn't that fun? And kind of pointless, I suppose. Next one will be better. My internet access has been recently curtailed severely, (ie parents put the password back on) so these updates will be sporadic at best. I will try to make them big updates. 


	6. Chapter 6

There was nowhere else like it.  
  
That was the thought running through Norelda's mind as she was ushered up the stairs to where her grandparents waited. She looked about her. The staircase they were climbing wrapped about the living bole of a massively huge mallorn tree. Others, not quite as large, were clustered about with similar staircases leading up. From what she could see, the people of Lorien, the Galadhrim, lived in the trees, quite literally. Their houses nestled among the branches of the mallorns. She tried to wrap her head around such a foreign idea as she climbed, and was surprised to discover that the concept quite appealed. To her, at least. She could see Arwen looking a little pale.  
  
Then all thoughts were driven from her head. They had reached the top of the staircase and emerged onto a wide flet, upon which was held the court of Lothlorien. Two thrones were set on the opposite side, and the Lord and Lady stood before the thrones, their arms open in welcome.  
  
Celebrian gave a cry and rushed across to them. The last time Norelda had seen her move so quickly was when Elrohir fell from the second story balcony into the pond. She was embraced by her parents, and they spoke together in Quenya. Norelda spoke this tongue very little so she could not follow their conversation. She hung back with Arwen, and they stared in astonishment at the family reunion.  
  
The Lady Galadriel is beautiful, thought Norelda. She shines, like stars. No not stars, remembering Elrohir's tales, she shines like the Two Trees, like the Silmarils. She has seen them.  
  
So has Elrond, countered another part of her mind.  
  
Yes, but she knew the one who made them. She followed him from Valinor.  
  
All thoughts were banished from her head as the Lady turned her gaze upon Norelda and Arwen. She smiled, and held out her hands to them. The girls went to her without question, and she embraced, and spoke to them in Sindarin.  
  
"My granddaughters. How I have longed to see you both. You are welcome here in the realm of the Galadhrim, may you find rest and peace."  
  
"We are pleased to be here, Grandmother." said Arwen  
  
"Yes, it's beautiful here." added Norelda.  
  
"I am glad you like it, darlings. Now you should go and rest, for your journey must have been tiring. I will see you in the morning."  
  
"Yes, Grandmother" they both replied obediently.  
  
A tall blonde elf took them to a flet in a tree some distance from the main tree. It was a large platform, with walls and soft mats on the floor to sleep on. He left them there, and they lay and stared up at the stars.  
  
"Norelda?" Arwen's voice cut through the darkness after a time.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Do you think one day I will be as beautiful as Grandmother?"  
  
"I am sure of it."  
  
"I think one day you will be as wise as her."  
  
"Why do you say that?"  
  
"You're so clever. You learn things so quickly, and you understand everything."  
  
"Wisdom and cleverness are different, I think. Cleverness is easy, but wisdom take years and years, and even then it is not easy. Look at Feanor. He was supposed to be the best and cleverest of the elves, but he defied the Valar, and then he killed other elves, and then he was killed. That doesn't sound very wise, does it?"  
  
"No. I suppose."  
  
"Besides, I rather like being young and foolish. There's a great deal of enjoyment to be had yet, before I settle down and bcome a wise and respectable Elfmaid."  
  
"What kind of enjoyment do you suggest?"  
  
Norelda laughed, softly in the night. "We've come into an entirely new forest, that's completely safe! Tomorrow, I think, we go exploring."  
  
"Oh good! We have months and months, maybe years here. I wonder if it will be long enough. I could spend years just watching the leaves changing, listening to them rustling."  
  
"I think time is different here. We're too close to the world of Men in Imladris, even in Mithlond. Here, though, we're completely cut off. Time moves slower, but faster at the same time."  
  
"That's what mother says."  
  
"I know."  
  
They fell asleep watching the stars.  
  
Norelda would never be entirely certain how long they spent in Lothlorien, whether it was months or years, or even just days. All the days merged into each other, a gentle flow of sun and stars, laughter and games, wandering about just listening.  
  
She remembered that Arwen was taken to look into the Mirror of Galadriel and came back looking subdued and pale. She had refused to discuss it, but that evening, she had stood on Caras Galdhon and looked West as the Evening Star rose, and she had wept.  
  
When she came back, she was pale and trembling, and flung herself into Norelda arms and whispered "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." over and over. Norelda simply held her and rocked her back and forth as she wept.  
  
She would not find out for many years the doom that Arwen had seen for herself in the Mirror, and when she did, it would be many years before she understood it.  
  
Elves always had difficulty understanding death. 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own it all. All of it. Really? No. The only thing I own is Norelda. Tolkien etc, own all the rest, and all praise to him for making such a lovely world for me to play in. A/N Sincerest apologies for the long delay. Believe it or not, our phone line has been down for a month. A MONTH! My W key is still broken, so if there are any missing W's, I apologise. Also my E key is about to give up the gasp. I need a new keyboard, this one is a dinosaur. Tell me what you think. (Mental picture of me grovelling on the floor) Review!!!  
  
The Greenwood folk certainly were merry, thought Norelda. They loved dancing and singing and feasting, and every night was celebrated. Norelda felt more at home here, among these lively, never-still folk than in the solemn, lovely Lothlorien, like a still pool, or in warm, homely Imladris, as joyful as it was. Her childhood spent at Mithlond was only a faint memory, though she could still clearly remember her father's stern face, and the sound of the sea. They had been in the halls of the Elven-King Thranduil for a little under a month. They had barely arrived when the Elven-Princes had begun vying for the attention of Arwen. She seemed almost startled by the noise and vigour of the place, and the fawning Princes had completely overwhelmed her. Norelda was quite worried about her, actually. She had been paler than usual since they had left the Golden Wood, and had not been eating well. The sons of Thranduil were doing their best to remedy that, competing with each other to offer her the choicest dishes and best wine. Norelda, sitting next to her, was partnered with one of the younger sons, fifty years older than her or so. Their polite conversation had petered out some time ago, and she was now concentrating on her food, which was, she had to admit, excellent. Arwen seemed not to notice, picking listlessly at the plate of fish set before her. Her partner plucked at the sleeve of her gown politely. The gown was green, with sleeves that flared at the elbows and fell almost to the floor. The high neck of the gown was edged in gold. She hated it. She admitted that it was flattering to her, but she hated it anyway. She couldn't even walk in it, and they expected her to dance in it, which was why her partner - what was his name again? - was tugging at the velvet sleeve. She rose with a sigh, noting as she did so that Arwen had been claimed for the first dance by her father. That was good, he would take care of her. He was as worried about his child as she was, and even he didn't know what was wrong. She allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor. The musicians were tuning up. They played mostly pipes and flutes, with several drummers keeping quick, complex beats for the music. It was merry and lively music, the kind that suited Norelda best, if she could dance to it, which she could not in this dress. Her partner, a tall pale elf with golden hair, smiled at her as the music began and they swept around the dance floor. She watched Arwen surreptitiously. She seemed to be holding up, or maybe Elrond was holding her up. She had lost enough weight that he could easily carry her. Indeed, some days it seemed as if the wind could carry her off. The dance ended and she stepped back and curtsied to her partner - what was his name? - before taking his arm and trailing off the floor to a seat by Arwen. The music continued, and several elves came up to ask for dances from one or the other of the maidens. Norelda waved them away impatiently, her attention on her cousin, who had gone slightly green. "Come, Arwen, it is a beautiful night. Let us walk outside on the terrace for a time and look at the stars." she said, loud enough for those hovering nearby to hear. Arwen nodded obediently and rose. As they strolled towards the exit, several tried to follow, but Norelda looked back with a steely gaze that said quite clearly: Don't even think about it. They suddenly found something else to do. The air was cool, but not cold, and smelt of jasmine. Further down in the garden, some of the lesser members of the court were singing cheerful songs and dancing by the light of the nearly-full moon. The two maidens wandered along the terrace in silence until they reached a place where they were out of sight of the Great Hall. They could see the river from here, the stars shining on its deceptively smooth surface. They sat on a marble bench and looked down at it. "You brought me out here to ask me what's wrong." said Arwen. It was not a question, and Norelda saw little point in denying it. "Yes. I know you're not going to tell me, though, so I thought I'd start by scolding you about taking better care of yourself first." Arwen smiled gently. The night air seemed to have revived her somewhat, putting a little colour into her cheeks she sat up straighter. "You said, when we were in Lothlorien, that you did not want to grow up, that you wanted to stay young and foolish forever." "Yes. I meant it. I love being young and carefree. I feel sorry for Men, with their lives so short, snuffed out so quickly. They have to grow up and become responsible so early." She turned to see Arwen bow her head, and reached out to touch her shoulder. "Sweeting, what is it? What did I say?" Arwen shook her head silently. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." "It was not you. I am alright, Norelda." They sat in silence for a time, under the stars, until Arwen said, "I wonder what it is like to be mortal, and die." "I do not know" said Norelda quietly, sensing that this was very important to her cousin. "It seems a strange thing, to just end like that." "Yes, strange indeed." "Is that why you are so quiet? Death will never touch us, Arwen sweeting. We are elves, the Firstborn, unchanging as the very stars." "But we can be slain -" "-in battle or die of grief, I know. But then we pass to Mandos, and are comforted, in the land beyond the Sea." "Still, I fear." Norelda looked at her for a long moment. Her cousin really was frightened of death, which was stranger than death itself. "Fear not, Arwen, sister of my heart. For I am here and you are here, and there is food and dancing, partners to dance with and the stars in the firmament, and what happens tomorrow or the next day will not cease to happen because you worry yourself into a wraith over it. Better to live, today, happy and content, and die tomorrow having been happy and content, than to live ten thousand years miserable and fearful because of what may happen tomorrow, don't you think, dearest?" Arwen frowned, as if trying to come to terms with the idea. Then a brilliant smile lit up her face and she threw her arms around Norelda and hugged her fiercely. "You're right, of course. Thankyou ever so much." Norelda hugged her back, unsure what exactly she had said to make Arwen feel so much better, but feeling that she had accomplished something all the same. For the rest of the evening, Arwen was much better. She seemed not to realise that all the young Elf-Lords were infatuated with her, but spoke and laughed with every person with equal delight. Soon after midnight, they went up to bed, though the celebration continued. Arwen stood at the window, which faced west into the forest and overlooked the garden, and watched the stars. The Firstborn. Unchanging as the stars... She looked down into the garden and saw her mother and father dancing, close together. She smiled. The sons of Thranduil sat in a group, five or six of them, laughing and joking. She saw the one who was infatuated with Norelda, who was too busy worrying about her to notice. She smiled again. Blew a kiss to the starry sky and went to bed.  
  
A/N So, what did you think? Is Arwen going do become a depressive alcoholic? Who is the mysterious dinner partner? Will I succumb to temptation and turn this into a cheesy Legolas-our-love-spans-millennia- romance fic? I need feedback, people! I cannot make these important plot decisions. I am very indecisive. Review. 


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: All belongs to Tolkien. I own Norelda, and the child she finds. A/N Please review. I have discovered the warm glow of a nice review and am hooked.  
  
They went hunting the next night. Already Arwen looked better, having had a good rest and several hearty meals. Quietly stunning in her smoky-grey gown with a divided skirt for riding, she was fending off her admirers with aplomb and diplomacy. Norelda watched, relieved beyond words that Arwen was getting back to her old self. She glanced down at what she was wearing, and laughed to herself. No wonder they were all flocking around Arwen, Norelda didn't really look like much this morning. She had taken one look at the gown (green again) laid out for her and begun rummaging through her bags for something else to wear. The thing had more lace on it than in her entire wardrobe. She finally settled on a hip length tunic and loose breeches tucked into knee-high boots. She had also discovered, in her hunt through the packs, the old knife-harness she had taken with her from Mithlond. The knives in it were still sharp, and she was surprised to find that it fit her rather well. Glancing in the mirror, she realised suddenly how much she had grown and filled out. Turning this way and that, she decided that she quite liked the shape, and hummed softly to herself as she strapped her bow and quiver on her back. The beautiful black mare she rode shifted under her, eager to get started. The party was assembling in a glade under the light of the full moon. It was strangely silent for so large a group, perhaps forty in all. Then, without preamble, King Thranduil stood up in the stirrups, lifted his arm and waved them forward. They cantered off into the woods, still in silence. Their horses hooves had been muffled and made no sound. They stole like shadows and mist through the moonlight woods, and the animals they hunted would not even be aware of them until it was too late. The Men of the region told stories of the Hunt of the Elves. It was not prudent to get in the way of the Elves, they said, for to them Men are as little as beasts, and they would kill you without a thought. It was nonsense of course, but it kept the Men out of the way. It was strange, surreal, hunting through the forest at night. No-one spoke, and all around them were the noises of the forest, faint as if heard through a screen. Norelda rode almost at the rear of the group, looking around, drinking in sights and almost-sounds of the darkness. The stars overhead blazed bright and clear, identical to the ones she had learned as a child in Mithlond. She picked out the familiar ones, marking the direction they were taking, South. She was so busy looking at the stars, that she would not have seen the child in the bushes had it not whimpered. The sound seemed to echo in the silent forest. The little girl-child was huddled at the base of a tree staring up at all these strange folk on their tall horses, eyes wide with terror. As one, the elves spun their horses, bows in hand, and took aim at the youngling. She gave a soft shriek, the sound amplified all out of proportion in the silence, and cowered back against the bole of the tree. When they saw that it was just a child, they slowly lowered their bows, unsure. Looking around Norelda could see that their faces were worried, even grim. "It's just a child," she said, her voice strangely loud in the silence. "Where's it from?" "Likely from a hunting village just west of here," replied one of the Greenwood elves, she couldn't see which in the dark. "Can't we take her back, then?" Thranduil sighed "We can't," he said, looking truly regretful. "They'll say she's been touched, or even changed. They'll just leave her out in the forest for us again." "Why would they do such a thing to one of their own children?" asked Arwen, looking really shocked. Elven children were prized beyond gold or gems, and no elf would ever think of leaving a child out in the forest to die. "Because they fear us." answered one of the sons grimly. It was her dinner partner - she still couldn't remember his name. They sat in silence for a moment more, and then Norelda asked softly, "What do we do?" "We leave her." Thranduil replied, equally softly. "There is nothing we can do. She will die. Her people will know that we have been hunting this night, and will never take her back." "You are just going to let her die?" cried Arwen, incredulous. "What else would you have us do, Lady? If she does not die this night, she will die tomorrow, or the next day, or in fifty or sixty years time. What matter if she dies sooner, rather than later?" Arwen flinched. She was unused to people speaking to her so bluntly, and it made Norelda very angry. "It matters," she snapped. "Because this child has life, even as you do, My Lord. And life is not something to be lightly thrown aside." She swung down from her horse, and half crouching, approached the little girl child, who looked faint with fear. "Come little one, I won't hurt you, it's alright. Come on, sweeting, everything's fine. Don't be afraid." she murmured. Held out her hand and brushed the girl's shoulder lightly. A murmur went up from the elves around her, almost fearful. The child, however, looked up at her, a sudden light in her eyes. The little one reached out a curious hand and touched Norelda's cheek. They both smiled, and suddenly Norelda was almost knocked backward as the little girl threw herself into her arms. She scooped up the child and turned to face those assembled. Thranduil looked thunderous, Celebrian shocked, but Arwen had a silly smile on her face, and Elrond looked pleased.  
  
There. What did you think? Click on the button below. You know you want to. Um. Please? 


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